


Two Points

by electraDandelion



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt is horny for elves what can I say, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Rating Will Change (E), Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg likes to meddle, this was originally going to be crack and one chapter...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electraDandelion/pseuds/electraDandelion
Summary: Once again, Jaskier found himself on the wrong side of a spell that left Geralt rushing to save his life — and Yennefer to pick up the pieces.Yennefer was definitely getting tired of the Witcher and his bard and their penchant for magical trouble. However, while healing the idiot, she noticed something that piqued her interest: a set of magically sealed scars running along the tips of the bard’s ears.And who was Yennefer of Vengerberg, other than a sorceress with a heart to help — and by help, she of course meantmeddle.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 326





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier being Jaskier, had to open his big fucking mouth. 

Actually, he was just trying to save Geralt’s goddamn life (and he _did_ , thank you very much), but Jaskier would admit that was the through-line for almost all of his problems. 

What was supposed to just be a den of corpse-eaters, turned out to be the hideout of a necromancer. One with a very short temper. 

By the time Jaskier had gotten nosy (worried), he found Geralt literally backed against a wall, prime alghoul bait, pinned back by 2 muscular and _ripe_ raised corpses. 

At the first sign of light, Jaskier turned to find the source of their problems. A witch dressed in all black, grey and lots of tattered strips which adorned her cloak. Even from Jaskier’s untrained perspective, he could feel her powerful magic thrum in the air, and could see her power and control from how she was seemingly controlling 2 corpses with only one active spell. 

That's where the problem really began. A twisting motion from the hand at her thigh resulted in a strained, twisting grunt from the other side of the room. When Jaskier saw the pained look on his witcher’s face — with blood dripping down from his mouth and his teeth holding onto his lip for dear life to restrain a scream — his brain went on autopilot. 

“If you want another puppet, I promise that witcher won’t be easy to control! To get me, all you have to do is take me to dinner, compliment my singing or have a pretty face — and you’ve already got that one in spades, so I promise I’ll play nice!” 

“Get out of my sight you squawking peacock, I’m looking for a new pet **wolf** , not an annoying puppy with its balls cut off!” 

“Hey that’s not nice, I’m just trying to tell you you’re pretty and save you the trouble from having to deal with —“ 

The bard didn’t get to finish his gripe, because what came out instead was an actual, undignified _squawk_ of pain. He now understood what could elicit that type of reaction from a witcher who was known only for _hmms_ and grunts. It felt like every organ in his torso was being twisted together, tied into one giant knot and then ripped out through his stomach and stuffed right back in to twist back through his innards. 

Jaskier barely registered two sounds before blacking out. The first, the distinct _gurgling_ slash of a sword through a trachea and the subsequent gushing of blood from severed arteries. The other — 

“ **_JASKIER_ ** —“ 

+++ +++ +++

Jaskier woke up in an unfamiliar bed, but he was surrounded by an all too familiar smell: Lilac and Gooseberries. 

Yennefer. 

On instinct, Jaskier sat up with a shot, but immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea and pain overcame him. 

“Ahhhhh, he lives.” 

The bard cracked open his eyes to glare, but they were still heavy with whatever sedative or spell the sorceress had given him, so the effect was probably lost on her. Faint memories of his last adventure with Geralt started filtering in through the haze. While he was definitely that he wasn't the thrall of some crazy necromancer, or strung up by his entrails… Jaskier also didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. 

“Ugh, I would say ‘no thanks to you’”, Jaskier lamented, rubbing a hand harshly through his hair in an attempt to calm his throbbing head, “but based on the amount of pain I remember, it's probably very much thanks to you that I am still among the living…”

“Ah, yes, but what's a life debt between friends?” Yennefer raised as if it were an innocent question, but Jaskier could hear the smug smirk lilting her voice.

“For starters: we aren’t friends.” Jaskier reminded her, but he was sure the sorceress already knew that, as she felt nothing close to camaraderie or affection for him. “And I really hate being indebted to someone I can’t please through any of my musical or _carnal_ talents… **”**

“What, you think me so low that I can’t just heal a lowly bard with no sense of self-preservation out of the goodness of my heart?”

“You would never.” He retorted, “I’ve seen you give men magical boners for money and subjugate entire manors into endless orgies just because you were bored.”

“Correction,” She punctuated with a flick to his ear, which obviously satisfied her based on the hum she gave at Jaskier’s protest. “The orgy was so I could draw on their energy to refuel my chaos. I can have more than one motivation, bard.” 

Jaskier just rolled his eyes and shook his head, not liking where this was going at all. He didn’t much like being in the same room as the witch at the best of times, but when he was weak and practically trapped in the same room as her, _alone,_ it put him completely on edge. 

“Then what were your ‘motivations’ this time…?” He grimaced. 

“I just wanted to do a favor for a friend,” Yennefer started, but paused to give him an all-too-knowing glare as Jaskier thought to interrupt. “And by _friend_ , I also mean those who I enjoy messing with.” 

“ _Shit…”_ Jaskier let his head fall into his hands as a cold shiver went down his spine. His mind started to race with all the possible curses Yennefer could have possibly ‘gifted’ him, and he couldn’t even imagine the kind of stipulations her twisted, chaotic mind could come up with. 

“Oh lighten up! You should be grateful — I healed those ghastly scars of yours, little elf.” 

“Wh-what?!” At that, Jaskier immediately dropped his hands to give Yennefer an incredulous look.

Jaskier was very aware of the scars on his ears; they had adorned his skin ever since he could remember. Sure, they were a little strange — but they had never caused him pain — and as a musician, all he could have asked for were two well-functioning ears. Since he had those, Jaskier had never really complained about them. They were just a part of who he was.

Honestly, with the placement of the scars along the tips of his cartilage, if someone didn't know to look for them or wasn't peering directly at them, they would probably go unnoticed. Especially when he grew his hair out. When he did, Jaskier had a small habit of brushing the edges of his scars and feeling the smooth, almost healed burn-like texture of them every time he tucked a curl behind his ears. 

His mother had always told him that they were a birth mark of sorts, where some unknown force had disfigured them before he was born. Jaskier hadn't any reason to question that explanation, so he never had. Well, not until Yennefer so elegantly threw a wrench into everything he knew. Because _obviously_ he didn’t hear her correctly —

“Geralt only asked me to _fix_ the mess that other witch left you in...” Yennefer paused to gesture wildly around her torso before mimicking an explosion, “But after I made quick work of your innards and that curse, I noticed those little scars of yours. I honestly don’t know how I missed them the last time I healed you, but that’s probably because I was a little… preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied?!” Jaskier sputtered, “More like power hungry! You were painting an amphora on your stomach so you could become a vessel for a **djinn** for Melitele’s sake!”

“Hush, bard. I still haven’t heard a ‘thank you’, so I’d suggest you withhold your judgement.” Yennefer threatened with a glare that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “But like I said, I don’t know how I missed these, since they were so obviously sealed with magic…” 

She paused for a moment, gently stroking the contours of one of Jaskier’s ears. While he was genuinely surprised at the tender nature of the gesture, he did have to admit that something definitely felt _different_. It brought a sort of tingling warmth into his stomach and his face that was just shy of uncomfortable. 

“So, out of the goodness of my heart, I healed the spell — because what good is an elf without his ears?” 

“There goes that word again!” Jaskier was shaken out of the almost soothing motion, once again frantic and confused by the entire situation. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about Yennefer, I’m not an _elf_ — I’m just a human bard!” 

The blank, almost pitying once-over that Yennefer gave him felt absolutely wrong coming from her, and the silence that followed kept him on edge. She gracefully stood up from where she was seated near his bedside, and sauntered off to some vanity along the far wall.

“You really didn’t know…?” Yennefer gently asked with a furrowed brow as she stepped back towards where Jaskier was seated.

“No, I didn’t ‘know’ because I still have no clue what on earth you are —“ Jaskier cut himself off with an undignified _yelp_ as Yennefer pushed a hand mirror in front of him to show him what she was talking about **.**

He was lucky that he was still seated in a bed, because if the blanket and mattress weren’t there to cushion the fall, Jaskier would have most definitely shattered said hand mirror. And while he really couldn’t afford any curses of bad luck, he also very much doubted that Yennefer would take kindly to him destroying her property — accidental or not. 

Jaskier’s lungs were failing him. He was in the early stages of hyperventilation. All of the confusion and residual pain was already enough to disorient him, but he could not get over the fact that he had recognized the _elf_ that was staring back at him in the mirror.

With shaky hands, Jaskier picked the mirror back up and forced himself to take another good look. This time, he only let out a small gasp at the sight of his own face. Because despite some foreign features on it, it was _his_ face. He drew his free, trembling hand up to follow the same gentle stroking motion Yennefer had done just a few moments before. 

Jaskier exhaled a quivering breath that was laced with bewilderment and distress as he felt the elongated stretch of one of his ears. The previously bumpy yet uncomfortably smooth feeling of his old scar was gone. In its place he could feel skin coming together in two _points_ that were very much **not** there before. If Jaskier hadn’t been boring holes into the mirror while doing so, he would have sworn he was hallucinating — but the evidence was written clear in his reflection and on the sides of his head. 

He took in his own reflection for a few moments before deciding that maybe he _was_ hallucinating. It almost seemed like his features were _sharper_. More... Elven.

His jaw seemed more pronounced, especially where the corner neared his ear. Jaskier almost thought his chin was a bit pointier as well, but the change was far too minute to really tell. However, all of those features were a bit more subtle compared to his cheekbones. There was no explaining _those_ with just a trick of the light or an angle. 

Not that Jaskier had weak bone structure before, but now all of those edges were far more defined, and his cheekbones really seemed like they could cut a witch. His cheeks also looked a little bit more gaunt, however that was likely due to his skin being stretched from the protruding bones above them. Despite everything, Jaskier still held his far-too-youthful countenance from before even without the slight roundness his features held before.

His gawking was cut short by a neatly-manicured hand curling over the edge of the mirror, which gently pushed it down and away from his face. 

“My guess is a faint glamour was laced into the spell to make you look more like your human parents… or I am assuming they are human, or at least appear to be, based on your reaction.” Yennefer spoke… gently. It was a strange tone of voice that almost felt strained, but did not sound disingenuous. Almost as if she genuinely cared and could see how freaked Jaskier was. 

All the bard could do was mutely nod as his brain began firing at all cylinders trying to figure what he had been told of his life was _actually_ true.

“When I first healed them, I thought it all finally made sense. That elven lute of yours... the whole not aging thing... I just assumed you knew.” The almost awkward tone from the sorceress felt even more out of place than her earlier gentle demeanor. “My apologies for the —”

“Wait — you mean it _wasn’t_ my skincare routine and good genes giving me my youthful glow?!” While Jaskier’s quip was probably coming from the need to lighten the mood _somehow_ , all it served was to draw an exasperated sigh from Yennefer. 

“ _That’s_ what you choose to focus on?!” Yennefer groaned as she shook her head. “I was trying to apologize for the shock, but it was obviously unnecessary if you can still be as stupid as you normally are.” 

Violet eyes narrowed in annoyance and honed in on a suitable target to take it out on: Jaskier’s ears. Without a second thought, she leaned forward to tower over the bard and pinched both tips of his ears and yanked them outwards.

“Y-Yennefer — stop—” Jaskier couldn’t help but shriek at the throbbing, tingling, painful sensation. His new additions were overly-sensitive and her touch was nearly burning as it caused his insides to spasm from the over-stimulation. “Please —” He continued to whimper in between sharp twists to his extended cartilage.

With a sudden _slam_ of the door to his room, Yennefer stopped most of her torture, but did not release the ears. Just a pause to calculate her next move which would surely be to continue the misery inflicted upon him in some form or another. 

“Yen, stop tormenting him. Hasn’t he been through enough today?”

A small gasp of relief escaped his lips when Yennefer finally released her vice grip on his ears to turn around and face the source of the voice. It only took a moment or two before Jaskier's brain caught up with the situation and his heart began to race in recognition of his witcher’s gruff, yet warm and almost… protective voice. 

“Oh come on, Geralt! I was just trying to wrangle a ‘thank you’ out of your ungrateful bard.” The sorceress heaved as she crossed her arms over her chest in frustration. 

“That’s not what I’m paying you for Yen” Geralt huffed. “I’d rather you didn’t curse him again just because the two of you are too stubborn to play nice…”

“Oh, so you’re paying me now? This is the first I’m hearing of it, _witcher._ Although I did revel in hearing you _beg_ me to heal him… I could really get used to seeing you on your knees, maybe next time covered in a little less bard blood though.”

While Jaskier couldn’t see Geralt, he could still hear him grumble something under his breath that sounded almost… embarrassed? 

“But he’s okay now… Right…?”

Jaskier was honestly glad that Yennefer was still firmly placed in between them, seemingly blocking Geralt’s line of sight, because he could feel a deep flush taking over his face from the caring, unsure tone coming from Geralt. He knew his ears were probably already red thanks to Yennefer, but Jaskier could feel that they would be flushed even without the earlier torment. 

“Why don’t you be the judge of that?” Yennefer’s smirk infused question was the only warning Jaskier got before he was face to face with familiar pools of burning amber. 

Jaskier unwittingly held his breath as he started back at Geralt. He didn’t know whether the witcher was going to be disgusted (unlikely, since he definitely had other elf acquaintances), insulted that he hadn’t told him (not that Jaskier knew anything he could have told him before today though), confused or… something else entirely. 

It was impossible to tell as Geralt’s wide eyes seemingly took in every inch of Jaskier and every new detail with unwavering attention. Sure, Jaskier had always _dreamt_ of being the center of Geralt’s attention… but now that he had it, it took everything in his power not to fidget or possibly even faint. 

He couldn’t control his ever growing blush that was stemming from the intense scrutiny under his witcher's blazing eyes. 

Jaskier usually felt comfortable filling any silence that Geralt left in his wake, but from the combined efforts of _everything_ , the bard could barely form a coherent _thought_. Much less an actual sentence. 

The two of them stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, neither daring to break eye contact for more than a few moments other than to get lost in the elven features, or to try and figure out what the hell was going through the other man’s mind. 

Geralt had the strangest look on his face. Normally, his silent stares were masked behind a wall of silence and stoicism. But now, that same face, which Jaskier knew far too well, held more emotion than Jaskier had seen on any given day during their decade or so of travels. 

Neither man seemed to notice the sorceress looking back and forth between the two of them, looking _far_ too pleased with herself. So it came as a shock to them both when she was the one to break the silence as her subtle smirk grew into a shit-eating grin the longer the tension built.

“Well… I guess I better leave you two to it” Yennefer mused, turning to the vanity with a flair to her wrist to grab some things. 

Before she could do whatever her whims decreed, Yennefer was stopped by the heavy and firm grip of Geralt holding her back by her wrist. 

“What… did you _do_ …?” Geralt nearly whispered through gritted teeth. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he would assume that tone was _worried_. 

“Literally nothing but heal him, you mongrel.” Yennefer just shook off his hold and gave the witcher a condescending eye roll. “I did what you _begged_ me to do, and I healed him. It just so happened that I revealed a secret that your poor bard didn’t even know about.” 

Geralt’s eyes widened at Yennefer’s information, if only in the slightest. He took a moment to look between the sorceress and the elven bard still laying on the bed. While Jaskier had _no_ gods-awful clue what sort of gears were turning in there, he had a sickly feeling that Yennefer _did —_ if her growing smirk had anything to say in the matter. 

“So he’s...” Geralt managed to choke out after what felt like eons of silent contemplation. 

“Yep.” Yennefer answered the unasked question, with far more satisfaction than Jaskier really thought was necessary. 

“Is he…”

“Hmm…” Yennefer hummed as she directed her striking gaze directly through Jaskier, before taking a few moments to think. “I’d guess… half, maybe? Give or take.” 

“And he’s…”

“Not for a while.” Jaskier had to admit he was taken aback by the tender tone that Yennefer used to answer that non-question. 

When even Jaskier couldn’t understand Geralt and his unfinished thoughts, it was truly a wonder that Yennefer could. Not that Jaskier was jealous or anything… but he did have to wonder if it was some sort of magic, or something else. 

But putting aside his better judgement, Jaskier leaned in to see a soft and encouraging expression written across the sorceress' face. From that, Jaskier guessed it was something more akin to trust. 

When Yennefer noticed the confusion and questioning in Jaskier’s eyes, she shook her head as a small laugh fell from her lips. 

“Like I said, I better leave you two to it.” She punctuated with a firm clasp to Geralt’s shoulder which only served to make the witcher cringe. If he was even capable of such a thing. 

“Leave us to _what_?!” Jaskier whined incredulously.

Yennefer turned around to peer back at the bard with an insatiable and much too pleased look which left Jaskier shivering where he sat. 

“A conversation. An important one.” It seemed like that was going to be the extent of her explanation. She did throw a conniving look towards the Witcher through the corner of her eyes, which just amplified her smug aura. The witcher promptly glared back at her. 

She then added a devious “Maybe two.” before turning again to leave. 

Before Jaskier could even breathe or begin to make sense of _whatever_ was about to happen, the sorceress turned back on her heel once more to lean down where he lied on the bed. 

She smirked something _evil_ down at Jaskier’s bewildered and frightened face, leaving him only to swallow heavily and stare wildly up at her in fear of what she was about to say. Or do.

Yennefer leaned in to whisper something in Jaskier’s ear which left him light-headed, red-faced and flustered.

“He has a thing for _elves_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops the plot grew wings
> 
> Note: most dialogue that is _"formatted like this"_ is spoken/communicated through telepathy/magic.

_ Fuck —  _ humans were absolutely fucking useless.

When it came to identifying monsters at least. Actually,  _ most  _ humans were completely and utterly useless. There was really only one human that Geralt didn’t think belonged in that category — and even then, Jaskier was still a double-edged sword.

But necrophages were so commonplace that Geralt didn’t even question the villagers’ accounts once he found the tracks in the graveyard. With the war-torn state of the continent, nearly half of all Geralt’s contracts ended up being corpse eaters of some sort. While those contracts definitely weren’t  _ fun  _ by any stretch, and couldn’t usually be called “easy”... they were often a quick and dirty way to scrounge up some coin. 

The prints and the overpowering stench of death suggested  _ alghouls.  _ T hose fuckers were never fun to deal with because they were swift with their attacks, and their spikes hurt like a bitch if you were on the receiving end of them. But the tracks only suggested two… maybe three of the buggers. There might be a few lesser necrophages hiding along with them, but it definitely shouldn’t be too much for a prepared witcher to handle. 

And if there were any humanoid footprints, Geralt didn’t pay close enough attention as it  _ was  _ a graveyard, and people were apt to visit loved ones passed. 

So, when he caught the scent of his target, Geralt didn't think twice about following it. He already had his potions restocked from the town he and Jaskier passed through before, along with a vial of necrophage oil that he had readied that morning after he picked up the contract.

Alghouls, if they weren't found eating their prey when they found it, usually liked to hole up in caves. As he saw the trail he was following slowly drift toward a set of short but ragged cliffs, Geralt knew he would more than likely have an opportunity to oil his blade before setting forth on the actual hunt.

Geralt almost felt over-prepared with 2 bottles of  _ Swallow _ and a  _ Thunderbolt  _ attached to his holster along with some _ Petri's Philter _ , because if there were more than a handful of alghouls,  _ Axii  _ and  _ Aard  _ would come in real handy. Being over-prepared wasn't a bad thing in a line of work as dangerous as this. It just usually happened to be expensive.

With the price and difficulty of procuring potion, bomb and oil ingredients, Geralt had a habit of hoarding his supply. And he tended not to use them unless he thought it was really necessary. Sure, he nearly always kept a few assorted and armed bombs in Roach's saddle bags, along with usually one of every one of his potions (and 2-3 bottles of _ White Raffard's Decoction _ in case of emergencies)... but there was only so much he could take on a hunt.

All that coupled with the unpleasant feeling and long-lasting effects of toxicity made Geralt wary to drink some of his potions — and  _ especially  _ wary of not drinking too many. In most cases, he couldn't afford the blurring pain on the edges of his vision or the fact that his health and stamina usually took a dive if he passed the safe threshold. ( _ Safe _ being a relative term when it came to drinking literal poison)

When the trail finally led Geralt to the mouth of a cave, he stopped and locked eyes with the bard that had been following behind him before sitting against the trunk of a tree to oil up his blade.

Especially on smaller contracts that were less likely to kill the human bard, Geralt usually let Jaskier tag along at least part of the way. After nearly a decade of traveling together, the nearly-silent routine of Jaskier's intense blue eyes following his every move as the witcher ran through the motions of identifying and tracking a beast, had almost become comfortable. 

Surprisingly, with how talkative the bard was, he had learned over time how Geralt preferred to operate when it came to contracts, creatures and coin. Uninterrupted silence as he processed what he would need to do in order to collect on the contract and make it out alive was necessary. And as long as Jaskier abided by those rules, Geralt didn't have any qualms about humoring him.

It's not like any of this was something Jaskier hadn't seen before. But as the years went on, Geralt found it harder and harder to deny the bard the little joys he took from accompanying him on witcher contracts.

As Geralt made quick work of oiling his blade, he raised a thick white brow at Jaskier in silent question. One that the bard sighed at, because he knew it meant that this was where he was to stay until Geralt came back with his trophies.

"Don't go dying on me in there Geralt, otherwise I'm going to have to come in and save your ass!" Jaskier yelled after the witcher who stood and stalked towards the cave.

Geralt couldn't fight the small smirk that lifted his lips at Jaskier's words, so he just shook his head before giving the bard a small wave. The thought of Jaskier coming in and trying to rescue a  _ witcher  _ from a pack of alghouls was honestly hysterical, but it still left Geralt feeling two things he definitely didn't need before dealing with monsters.

The first was the faint warmth that always crept into Geralt's stomach when Jaskier voiced his care and concern for the witcher. That was usually easy enough to squash down unless those thoughts were coupled with actions such as a bath after a hard hunt or the feeling of his calloused fingers rubbing circles into his scalp. The second was fear. Fear that Jaskier would do something stupid and get himself hurt.

He quickly drowned those feelings with the disgusting feeling of toxicity and too-intense focus as Geralt tossed back the vials of  _ Thunderbolt  _ and  _ Petri's Philter _ one after the other. While he wasn’t necessarily sure that he  _ needed  _ the extra boost to his attacking or sign power, if there was one thing potions were good at, it was getting a witcher back to his natural state of feeling nothing aside from pain.

All Geralt could hope for as he entered the cave, was for this to be over as quickly as possible.

##  +++ 

There were 10 of them in total — which was more than he was expecting — but not  _ deadly _ . The pack of ghouls had 2 alghouls leading it, which even though he was expecting them… they still always made everything harder with their spikes and screams. 

Geralt really should have expected there to be more than just those that were using the graveyard as their buffet. But that was his own fault for not thinking it over carefully enough. Now he had to clean up his own mess that he made.

Luckily, his forethought to take a  _ Thunderbolt  _ helped him to cut down the ghouls in only a few swipes, but it was still a lot harder when he was outnumbered. The  _ Petri’s Philter  _ helped too, but it would have been more so if he had been able to fire off the  _ Axii  _ he had been planning on to deal with the alghouls. 

Since there had been so many, it wasn’t practical to use  _ Axii  _ to coerce the monsters to sheath their spikes. Geralt had to rely on  _ Aard  _ far more than he had planned on to knock the creatures down and out of his way for long enough to get a few blows in. While that strategy had worked for the most part, it was neither the most efficient or effective. It absolutely exhausted his stamina too. 

He had chosen poorly, and would have given his useless left nut to go back in time and drink a  _ Tawny Owl _ instead. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so fucking drained.

As Geralt bent down to cut the head off the first of the alghouls that lay at his feet, he felt his side scream in pain and was reminded of the spikes. He had gotten stabbed by them once or twice when he got in too close while swinging his sword, not having enough space or time to pirouette back and dodge.

While the injury wasn't bad, he was definitely still bleeding, so Geralt quickly uncorked a vial of  _ Swallow  _ and drank half of it before sliding his armor out of the way to pour the other half onto his wound. The burn down his throat and his side was oddly satisfying, but he could still feel the thrum of toxicity through his veins which made it harder to focus on the last task at hand: cutting off the heads of the monsters so he could get his coin and get the fuck out of there.

With the carving knife back in his hand and the pain in his side dulled, Geralt began collecting the severed heads of the necrophages. If he was lucky, or if Jaskier could work his magic, he could probably easily walk away with double the agreed upon coin for how many of the fuckers he had to deal with.

Thoughts of coin and a warm bath (and definitely not thoughts of  _ who  _ would be giving him the bath) distracted Geralt. Coupled with the throbbing of his dulled senses due to the toxicity, Geralt didn’t hear, much less  _ smell  _ anything approaching. At least not until it was too late. 

Something hit him from behind with a heavy force, knocking him into the ground. The disorienting whiplash and pain made it even harder to focus in the dim cave lighting as he felt strong hands begin to drag him unceremoniously by the shoulders. 

As he looked up at the slightly blurry figures, Geralt realized he had somehow missed the vibrating of his medallion. Whether it was from exhaustion or mistaking it for the feeling of the toxicity in his veins or just plain fucking ineptitude, he had fucked up. 

He didn't know just how much until the vibrating grew even more intense until it felt like it was about to burn a hole in his chest. 

“Oh look at what my toys dragged in… I’ve been looking for a new plaything…”

Geralt forced himself to look toward the source of the voice, and more than likely the source of the chaos that was beginning to choke him as well.

He saw a rather plain looking witch with a crazed and  _ ravenous  _ expression. Her hair was a dull, dark brown with slightly matted and frizzy curls which had probably gotten to that state due to the careless nature of her magic thrumming through the air. She was dressed in what looked to be all black, or maybe charcoal, but the ragged state of her cloak and skirt underneath lent little in the way of style. If she had been trained at Aretuza or held a place in court, she had surely seen better days. 

But the harsh grip of cold, almost  _ slimy  _ hands along his shoulders and neck from two ripe corpses sent dread down his spine. This was no ordinary sorceress. She was a necromancer — and based on how smug and unaffected she was after controlling two thralls with only one active spell, she was a powerful one at that. 

“Fuck.”

This was bad. Really fucking bad. If necrophages were something that gave humans nightmares, a necromancer could make a witcher shit his pants. Especially when he was being held hostage at the whims of one incredibly powerful witch, while quite literally only subsisting on fumes and fury.

The stench of the corpses was burning itself into his nasal passages and would have made his vision swim if it hadn’t already been doing that for the last half hour. Sure, death followed Geralt wherever he went, and the smell of it was sewn in the soil of every acre of the continent by now… but there was something so utterly revolting about the rotting fetor that came with (what Geralt would guess was) 3 or more months of decomposition. Surely that witch could have found a fresher specimen or two, but he had a sneaking suspicion she either enjoyed the miasma of death. Or maybe she just liked to watch her victims suffer. Especially when they were a witcher with incredibly heightened senses. 

Geralt fought against the manhandling from the raised corpses, but with his stamina so low and the combined weakness from the toxicity and the assault on his senses, he couldn’t do much more than struggle and kick to no avail. They were stronger than they looked too; possibly imbued with the necromancer’s chaos to make them much stronger than their partially-decomposed bodies should have allowed. 

Even with his stamina at the bare pits, Geralt attempted to fire off an  _ Aard  _ to shake the corpses off and to give himself a fighting chance because there was only so much he could do in this state  _ and  _ unarmed.

Seemingly, the witch saw the movement even in the dim cave lighting, and fired off some projection spell of her own and shoved him into the hard rock behind him. Or maybe the corpses had thrown him there themselves from some command — either way, Geralt wasn’t sure. His vision was still blurred and tinted a sickly green, so combined with getting the wind knocked out of him, meant he could barely tell up from down. Much less  _ where  _ all of his pain was originating from.

After Geralt inhaled a few measly gasps and shook against his restraints, he looked up to see a vile sneer contort the witch’s face. He didn’t even need to wait to see the reason, because even with the scent of death causing his head to ache, Geralt could  _ smell  _ them. _Ghouls_. 

Three or four ghouls slowly entered the chamber in which their silent stand off was going down, and began to circle around Geralt. The lot of them never strayed more than a few feet away from the sorceress, but also seemed careful not to get too close either. Sure, he could probably use his witcher senses to focus on the monsters around him to see if his vision was doubling, or if there were just that many… but for once, the things he could kill easily with silver weren’t the worst of his problems.

“Ghouls are much smarter than witchers like you give them credit for. They know a brighter mind when they see it. And they will  _ listen _ if you know how to command them.” 

The witch pet one of the ghouls that was beckoned to her side, before turning and sicking it on the prone witcher. In a flash, Geralt felt the searing pain of teeth gnawing and ripping into his leg, causing him to shake and groan. Even through all the commotion, neither of the raised corpses so much as flinched.

Fighting back the scream of pain from the ghoul bite was humiliating and quite unbearable. But it did offer Geralt a bit of clarity and adrenaline. 

The magic in the air was making him nauseous. If his veins weren't already vibrating from overuse and the toxic blood flowing rapidly through them, he was sure his skin would be crawling. The command she had over her chaos made her an intimidating foe, but Geralt was patient and resilient. He just had to wait for an opening. But from the insatiable aura surrounding her, he knew he would be hard pressed to find that opportunity to escape.

“Now… we can do this the easy way or the hard way… it's up to you,  _ pet.” _

Geralt might be nearly immune to magic, but he wasn't immune to death. And while he didn’t really want to find out what the “hard way” was, he was also too damn stubborn to let himself become some thrall for another power-crazed witch.

“Fuck. You”

Suddenly, with the most minute twist of a wrist, Geralt felt as if his insides were becoming his outsides. It took every ounce of discipline from nearly a century of witchering to not give that bitch the satisfaction of knowing how much pain her fucking spell was putting him through. 

God damn, he couldn’t fucking breathe. He could taste the bitter iron of blood, but it was impossible to tell if it was coming  _ up  _ from his throat and stomach or if he was just biting down too hard from the pain.

The pain was so excruciating that he hadn’t noticed a familiar scent float through the cavern. It was too much for him to try and stop what happened next.

“If you want another puppet, I promise that witcher won’t be easy to control! To get me, all you have to do is take me to dinner, compliment my singing or have a pretty face — and you’ve already got that one in spades, so I promise I’ll play nice!” 

Geralt’s eyes shot open, practically rabid from the combined pain and the  _ need  _ to protect Jaskier from his own stupidity and complete lack of self-preservation. If  _ Geralt —  _ a fucking  **witcher** — and not just any witcher, one who had gone through extra mutations, was at the mercy of this necromancer… he didn’t even want to think of what she could do to Jaskier — 

“Get out of my sight you squawking peacock, I’m looking for a new pet  **wolf** , not an annoying puppy with its balls cut off!” 

As much as Geralt absolutely despised every word that she spat from her mouth, they weren’t what was making Geralt writhe and fight against the too-strong thralls. If he had just taken a bloody  _ Tawny Owl _ instead of any of the far more useless potions he had downed, maybe neither of them would be in this mess in the first place. Maybe, he could muster  _ just  _ enough stamina to break out of the hold. 

Geralt clenched his hands and flexed in an attempt that up until that point had  _ not  _ worked to free himself, then switched gears and made the hand sign for  _ Aard _ . Yet nothing, useless fucking  **nothing** was working.

“Hey that’s not nice, I’m just trying to tell you you’re pretty and save you the trouble from having to deal with —“ 

Jaskier’s agonizing shriek was all it took for enough adrenaline to well up for Geralt to send the corpses  _ and  _ the sorceress flying back. All of whom, knocked down and stunned. 

The witcher couldn’t think of another time when he had been actually  _ thankful _ for his extra mutagens. When his adrenaline is high enough and he is  _ angry  _ enough, not only could Geralt shoot off a sign solely using his adrenaline… it will be more than twice as strong. 

**_“JASKIER_ ** _ — ” _

Blinded by his complete and utter rage, Geralt ran forward — effortlessly picking up his blade. He dashed and pirouetted, slicing through every ghoul as if they were butter — even without the active effects of his potions helping him. 

Geralt could feel the adrenaline peak as he saw the witch ready another spell as she struggled to get up. But he didn’t even entertain giving her a fighting chance as he used all his power to shoot off a mighty shock wave of  _ Aard  _ at her.

The necromancer wailed and Geralt’s sensitive hearing could hear some of her bones shatter. Sometimes the witcher forgot how strong an adrenaline-fueled sign could be, but then again,  **no one** could hurt Jaskier and live to tell about it. 

He leaned down to grab her roughly by the neck and thrust her against the wall, holding her at sword point. Based on the billowing scent of fear that rolled off of her along with her terrified expression, Geralt could only assume what he looked like. Jet eyes, black as tar bleeding into throbbing grey-purple veins that were bulging out in toxicity just as much as they were in anger. 

His expression must have been positively  _ maniacal  _ as he snarled and stared daggers into her hard enough that he probably could have killed her with only a look. But probably wasn’t enough — and even if he could, it wasn’t fast enough — he hadn't been fast or strong enough to stop him from getting hurt in the first place.

He only had enough self control to hold back the killing blow for but a few words. 

“ **No one touches** **_my_ ** **bard!** ” 

Geralt screamed and growled at her before  giving in to the urge to slash her throat. The sickening  _ gurgle  _ of blood spurting from carotid artery to carotid artery in a nearly-clean slice .  If under different circumstances, Geralt would have given in to the desire to make the sorceress suffer for hurting his bard. That bitch made him want to  _ earn  _ his “title” more than he ever had in his miserable fucking life.

After feeling the sorceress go limp in his hand, Geralt finally felt his medallion stop vibrating; he didn't even glance to see if the corpses fell along with their master. It didn't matter, because Geralt would have killed an entire fucking army of the undead if it meant saving Jaskier.

With his surroundings finally no longer thrumming with over-spent chaos and screams, all Geralt could hear was a faint heartbeat. He fucking sprinted to the source, and lifted Jaskier’s limp body into his arms like he had done many times before. And dreamt of far more.

Despite having run out of stamina long ago, Geralt propelled himself through the cavern fueled by adrenaline, rage and something else he couldn't for the life of him identify. Something close to desperation.

Geralt wasn't paying attention to his surroundings — he was too exhausted to — guiding himself solely by smell. He followed the scent of Roach to bring him out of that godforsaken cave. Luckily ‘horse’ was a strong enough smell to overpower the blood and death that inhabited the cave. (Good thing too, since Geralt didn't know if he could handle focusing on the faint smell of Jaskier’s blood that was wafting up from in his arms)

The only thing Geralt could focus on was the far-too pale and far-too still face which was draped back over the edge of his arms. Jaskier was scrunched up in pain, and Geralt pushed himself faster every time a small whimper would escape from the bard.

All the gods be damned — there was no way in any hell that Geralt was going to let those be the last sounds to pass from Jaskier’s lips.

Geralt was going to save Jaskier if it was the last thing he did. He  _ couldn't _ let Jaskier die. Not after he had saved him.

The witcher begrudgingly thought about how his previously laughable thought had ended up a reality. Jaskier had quite literally saved Geralt. Even if he had almost ( _ almost _ ) killed himself in the process.

He felt  _ ashamed _ . He felt guilty. It was all his fault. If he had been more careful, if he had paid more attention, if he had packed the right potions, if he had kept his guard up… his bard wouldn't be limp and dying in his arms.

This was different from the many times the bard had thrown himself in harm's way. Or the many times Geralt had accidentally hurt him, like with the godforsaken Djinn. 

Then, Jaskier was just being stupid with his trademarked lack of self-preservation. But here... Jaskier had seen the danger, and he  _ still  _ jumped in to distract the witch to try and save Geralt.

He hated to admit it, but if it hadn’t been for that distraction, Geralt probably would have died at the hands of that necromancer.

His whole body shuddered at the thought of being brought back to life, only to do her bidding. Or worse: being forced to hunt down more prey for her. Namely, the man who had been waiting just outside, unsuspectingly. Namely, the man in his arms.

Geralt had accepted his own death a long time ago.  Probably from the moment he had been abandoned by his mother at Kaer Morhen. Definitely by the time he learned what witchers  _ were _ and how they were made — and especially when he learned he was to be one. 

By the time he had gone through the Trial of the Grasses, Geralt already felt dead. Even more mutagens and several decades later, Geralt had always silently longed for death in whatever form it would show him its mercy. 

But now… as he stared down the possible death of his only…  _ friend _ … Geralt couldn’t accept it. He  _ wouldn’t  _ accept it. And he would fight it with every breath he had left. 

Finally, daylight burst into his vision as he reached the mouth of the cave. With as much care as a witcher could muster, Geralt laid Jaskier’s prone body alongside his previously abandoned bags.

As gently as he could, he pushed aside the already unbuttoned doublet and lifted the chemise underneath. For a passing moment, he was glad to see that it wasn’t stained with blood or anything more than just a little wrinkled. 

But that thought  _ quickly  _ faded when he saw the discoloration underneath the skin of Jaskier’s stomach.

It was  _ swollen,  _ and seemed to grow a more sickening and darkening purple by the minute. What was even worse, was the almost  _ writhing  _ going beneath the surface. Despite the witch lying cold and dead and bled-out deep within the cave, her magic was still wreaking havoc on the bard’s body. 

Geralt himself had been on the receiving end of her same magic, but with a quick hand placed to his own stomach, he could tell that the lasting result had not been the same.

Whether that was due to him being a witcher and Jaskier being a human, or whether it was the intention behind the spell, Geralt didn’t know. (Although he surmised it was the latter as she had wanted to  _ play  _ with Geralt. And like most people when they first met Jaskier, all she wanted was for him to shut up. Apparently, for good.)

With a shake of his head to bury  _ that  _ thought, Geralt brought two fingers to his mouth to call for his horse with a desperate and sharp whistle, one that he knew Roach would be able to hear and would get her to come running to them. 

He didn’t care about his trophies or his coin anymore. If they were really struggling after this debacle was all over, Geralt could always find his way back to this shit hole and collect the rotting heads. But that wasn’t anywhere close to a priority right now. 

His priorities were as follows: 

  1. Getting Jaskier help/keeping him alive until he found help.
  2. Not leaving behind any of Jaskier’s things — especially not his lute. Because if he did, Geralt would never hear the end of his bitching if he was alive after all this. (and he _would_ be.) He wasn’t doing any of this because the bard had saved his life. It was the least Geralt could do to save Jaskier’s most prized possession, especially since it was one of the few things he always carried around with him without fail. 
  3. Reholstering any of his bags and weapons that he had left with Jaskier outside the cave. If he was likely to not receive any coin for this last contract, he couldn't afford to replace all of his supplies.



In the minutes it took for his mare to reach them, Geralt inched Jaskier back up into a sitting position; one that would be easier to lift him from, as well as one that was much easier to make an attempt at comfort.

Geralt rubbed small circles into Jaskier’s upper back and shoulders. He didn’t possess any of the bard’s skill in comforting words, and the thought of whispering “it’ll be okay” left a bad taste in his mouth. So it was really all Geralt could do until the sound of frantic hooves filled his ears.

When Roach came into sight, Geralt hoisted Jaskier back into his arms, and lifted him onto Roach’s saddle before climbing onto the back of her and wrapping his arms around him.

Geralt  _ hated  _ overburdening Roach. She didn’t deserve it on her worst days — and he had somehow found her on the  _ roof  _ of some stables and inns — so she had some pretty rough days. 

But this was an emergency. 

He spurred her into a gallop that was probably way too fast of a pace to be carrying a big ass witcher, gear, AND a fully grown bard. When all of this was over, he would have to really thank her for her service and hard work. Some nice oats and a really thorough brushing should do the trick, but hopefully Jaskier would also feed her a handful of sugar cubes or something when he thought Geralt wasn't looking. 

Because if Jaskier made it out of this alive, she would deserve it. Geralt might be a witcher with super-human strength, but he could have never carried Jaskier back to the village in time on his own.

Everything about this god forsaken scenario reminded Geralt of what happened in Rinde. A time he would  _ much  _ rather forget for many reasons; most of all, however, was when he nearly killed Jaskier with his short temper and irritability by sicking a  _ Djinn  _ on him.

But, there was one good thing that came out of their encounter with the Djinn.

Geralt had discovered one small side effect or perk of his bond with Yennefer when  _ he  _ had last been on the verge of death. 

He had picked up a contract on a _Leshen_ a year or so back; those were always tricky, since leshens were highly territorial and it was nearly impossible to guess their age before seeing one up close. A few too many close calls and a long, drawn out battle later, Geralt found himself impaled on an ancient leshen’s roots and corvids attempting to peck him to death. 

It had been the early spring, less than two weeks after the snow thawed, and Geralt had not yet met back up with Jaskier. While hunting alone was something he had done for decades before meeting the bard, nearly 10 years of backup running to him to support the witcher with his own potions and other first-aid had made Geralt soft. And vulnerable. 

That’s when the overwhelming aroma of lilac and gooseberries flooded his senses. 

Geralt hadn’t remained conscious for much longer, but when he finally awoke and in far less pain (and much less dead) than he had imagined, Yennefer told him what happened. 

They didn’t entirely know whether it was solely because of the Djinn having bound them together, or if it also had something to do with the chaos that flowed through both of them... but their bond actually seemed to have a practical purpose. Apparently Yennefer could feel his distress even from as far away as Koviss, for whatever reason she had been  _ there.  _ But Geralt really couldn’t complain because he wasn’t dead.

Over time, Geralt found that if he poked and prodded Yennefer enough to be felt across their bond, that she would normally appear. If only to smack him silly. Which to be fair, she had once or twice, when he had been particularly  _ explicit  _ in his desire and she had felt his indecent thoughts towards her. 

While being bound to a sorceress like Yennefer was a burden on most days, and insufferable on even more… situations like these made Geralt regret his third wish a little less. 

Holding the bard’s frail body tight to his chest made Geralt acutely aware of both Jaskier’s fragile mortality and his own feelings. Those were two things he could have lived several more decades without realizing, but he no longer had the luxury of repressing those thoughts for any longer.

As Geralt rode, he pushed Roach faster and faster back towards the town, yelling his thoughts as loudly as he could to annoy the sorceress on the receiving end of them in a desperate attempt to rile her up and get her attention. 

_ 'Yennefer — ’ _

In case the gods (who Geralt didn’t believe in) abandoned them… or in all likelihood, if a sorceress with a god complex ignored his cries for help, Geralt needed to ride with the speed of a fucking tornado if he had any chance of reaching another mage in time to save Jaskier. 

_ ‘Yennefer  _ **_god damn it_ ** _ I know you can hear me!’  _

Geralt also knew that if Yen was to be in an appeasing mood, she would rather not have to portal herself into the middle of the forest. She usually scoffed at any holding less than the size of Oxenfurt, but the small village and it’s no-longer-a-problem, ghoul problem, would have to fucking do. 

_ ‘This is a fucking emergency, not one of your games — ’  _

Patience was not a virtue Geralt currently had in large supply. Time was at an even greater scarcity as he could feel Jaskier’s breath getting shallower and more labored with each passing minute.

_ ‘For gods sake Yen —  _ ’

Finally, as Roach’s hooves start clacking on the uneven cobblestones where the edge of the forest turned into a road, a portal opened up before the three of them. With a familiar and irritable looking sorceress stepping out.

“Oh quit your whining Geralt, I could hear you from all the way in Maribor for crying out loud…”

“Then what took you so fucking long?” Geralt growled back at her.

“ _ Tsk _ , Geralt, that is no way to ask for my help when you so rudely interrupted me in the middle of some very important business... what's the so-called emergency this time…?"

“Just **fix** him.” He choked out with a snarl. Geralt barely managed to contain his fuming anger at her dismissive tone when he gestured to the man he was holding close to himself.

Yennefer looked up to where Geralt was seated on top of roach, holding Jaskier tightly yet gently between his chest and the reigns. She stepped forward with a sigh, lifting a subtly glowing hand up towards the bard to inspect him. 

Probably upon feeling the strong and evil magic that was still squirming inside him, her eyes immediately popped open with a grim look on her face as she quickly reopened a portal.

“I know you hate these things, but we’ve got to get him stable as quickly as we can without jostling him too much more. Come on, there’s no time to lose.”

Geralt grimaced at the prospect of that blasted portal, and readied a weak _Axii_ to coax Roach through while carrying the two of them. She probably hated portals even more than her owner, but they couldn’t afford her bucking them off in distress.

But Geralt knew he would do whatever it took to save his bard, so he quickly followed the sorceress through the portal as the overpowering smell of lilac and gooseberries filled his nose alongside the burning sensation of magic filling all of his senses.

+++ +++ +++ 

Fuck, Geralt had been pacing around the salon of Yennefer’s manor for what felt like  _ weeks. _ There was practically a path worn into the elaborate, decorative tile from his nerves. But he  _ couldn’t  _ just sit still — and he couldn’t go bother Yen to check on the progress. Otherwise he would get either an ear full from the sorceress or a curse. 

Yennefer’s portal had transported them to Maribor, where she was currently making her home. The property was grand and to Yennefer’s extravagant tastes; obviously pilfered for coerced away from some nobility through her charms and magic. While Geralt did not approve of her methods and especially not her disregard for others, there wasn’t much he could do to dissuade her from doing as she pleased. 

There weren't many people around, the witcher had only seen one or two servants cleaning or moving through the halls. But he could smell a cacophony of scents which were still fresh, probably no more than a few hours old. 

Luckily, none of them smelled like sex or anything nefarious, so there had probably been some truth to her “stepping away from important business”. Usually her source of income and renown was running from kingdom to village to town doing magical favors and miracles for those that could pay. She didn’t have to do much before townspeople and nobles lined up by the hundreds, fueled by their own desperation and want. 

All Geralt could do was pace, his worry growing more and more with each passing minute.

It had been too long. _Far_ too long. Geralt knew better than to disturb the sorceress, especially while trying to lift and heal a powerful curse, but it was taking all of Geralt’s training and willpower to not storm in there to make sure his bard was still alive and breathing. 

This wasn’t like last time, when Jaskier’s big mouth and Geralt’s impatience had caused a mischievous and vengeful Djinn to nearly kill him. Then, Geralt had to put his faith in a sorceress who he didn’t know and who he trusted even less.

Now, he knew Yennefer, and knew that she would heal Jaskier. Even if Geralt didn’t know what it was going to cost him this time. Even though he trusted her (at least, as much as he could), it didn’t ease any of the worry that was rapidly flowing through his body.

This time was different because Jaskier had  _ saved  _ Geralt — and he couldn’t do the same. This time was different, because while his heart had beat with worry and desperation before... half of those feelings were because he had no idea what he was feeling or  _ why _ .

Now, Geralt  _ knew _ . And that knowledge made his worries ingrain themselves deeper and deeper with each passing minute; each long minute where Geralt feared he would never again hear Jaskier’s voice. Or be able to say thank you. Or be able to put a voice to the other jumbled, uncomfortable emotions that the bard made Geralt feel. Or say sorry.

At least another hour passed before Geralt finally heard some commotion coming from across the mansion in the direction where he knew Yennefer was healing Jaskier. 

Yennefer had purposefully told him to stay in the receiving area because she knew it was far enough away where his super-human hearing wouldn’t be able to hear or focus on everything. It was both a blessing and a curse, because while he couldn’t focus on Jaskier’s labored breathing or his scent being ravaged by  _ pain _ … Geralt also couldn't hear what on earth they were talking about.

All that mattered right now, was that based on the sounds of the muffled sound of familiar voices, Jaskier was  **alive** . Geralt just had to be patient until Yennefer said it was okay to come in.

But when Geralt heard a pained/surprised yelp echo through the halls in the one voice he never wanted to hear in pain, he said  _ fuck that _ .

Geralt bolted through the hall in record time, probably taking no more than 10 actual steps before he slammed the door open to stop whatever the fuck Yennefer was doing that was causing Jaskier any more pain.

“Yen, stop tormenting him. Hasn’t he been through enough today?”

Geralt heard a small gasp from behind the sorceress, and he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. Her placement and the knowing smirk on her face were far too conspicuous to be  _ any  _ good. 

“Oh come on, Geralt! I was just trying to wrangle a ‘thank you’ out of your ungrateful bard.” Yennefer complained, but Geralt could tell it was not entirely genuine. 

She seriously had some nerve not only hiding his bard from him, but also toying with Geralt as if he wasn’t already impatient enough. It took everything in his power not to stomp over there and shove her aside in order to inspect every inch of the bard to make sure that he was not only alive, but well. 

“That’s not what I’m paying you for Yen” Geralt huffed. “I’d rather you didn’t curse him again just because the two of you are too stubborn to play nice…”

“Oh, so you’re paying me now? This is the first I’m hearing of it, witcher. Although I did revel in hearing you beg me to heal him… I could really get used to seeing you on your knees, maybe next time covered in a little less bard blood though.”

If Geralt had the physical capacity to blush, he is sure that he would be at Yennefer’s words. Both out of embarrassment and resentment. He did not take lightly to jokes centered around ‘bard blood’ because that was something he hoped and prayed that he would never be covered in again. 

Monster blood? A hazard of his line of work. His own? He was quite used to it by now, and after undergoing the trials and vomiting so much of it up, he had never really been bothered by it again. The blood of others? Far too often an occurrence when bandits made the mistake of targeting a  _ witcher  _ of all people, or when a bar fight got too heated. But Jaskier’s blood?  _ Never  _ again. 

Geralt also really didn’t like being reminded of the desperate state he found himself in as he begged Yennefer for help across their bond. She was  _ far  _ too smug about all of it, especially when she was telling the story entirely wrong. The only time he had gotten on his knees was to survey the damage done to Jaskier, not to beg _her_ of anything.

Of course, the only rebuttal he could manage in his turmoiled and embarrassed state was to grumble a small “Shut up Yen, that’s not how it happened and you know it…” under his breath. But all it managed to do was make her smirk grow wider. 

He took a small breath in before shaking his head to look back up at Yen with all the seriousness the situation required.

“But he’s okay now… Right…?”

“Why don’t you be the judge of that?” Yennefer’s smirk put Geralt on edge, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as she finally moved out of the bloody way.

Geralt quite nearly fell forward — both from his poor restraint and from the shock. His first realization was that  _ yes,  _ Jaskier was alive; he was breathing, he was no longer pale and his face wasn’t twisting in pain. The second… were the two points adorning his ears that had  _ most definitely  _ not been there before. And Geralt could not stop staring. 

For a man who had not only been trained from the age of 8 to be emotionless and controlled, and who had gone through multiple sets of mutations to stamp out any of those tender emotions that were stubborn enough to remain… Far too many were swirling through his brain at the sight in front of him: flushed, red-tipped  _ elf  _ ears. 

On  _ Jaskier _ — his  **human** bard. 

His mind was simultaneously blank yet tumultuous with a storm of protective, confused and  _ hungry  _ feelings all spreading themselves out through his body. Geralt could feel his traitorous heart beating faster in appreciation of just how  _ good  _ those ears looked on him, but the witcher quickly shoved those feelings out to focus on how  _ wrong  _ the picture was. 

He raked his amber eyes up and down every inch of Jaskier’s body that wasn’t covered by the bedding to see if anything else was out of place. Geralt could already tell his face wasn’t nearly as schooled as he wanted it to be, as he needed it to be. Even if he knew witchers weren’t the emotionless husks that myth spelled them out to be, it was so much easier to just pretend. 

But his eyes were wide with concern, curiosity and  _ want _ . 

All Geralt could do was stare into Jaskier’s deep, frightened yet blazing eyes that seemed to grow bluer with each increase to his blush. Silence hung over them like a winter cloak as Geralt’s eyes darted back and forth over his face and how seemingly, despite the fact the bard looked like he hadn't aged a day, his features seemed sharper and more dangerous. More  _ enticing _ . 

Geralt could barely stop the indecent thoughts of tasting the bright flush on his tongue and feeling for himself just how sharp those new, more  _ elven  _ cheekbones of Jaskier were. The urge to leave a trail of love bites along his jaw and neck leading all the way up to those  _ ears  _ seemed to stubbornly grow with each struggle to push it far from his mind. 

He didn’t know how long the silent stare-down had lasted, and despite his embarrassment at the attention, Jaskier didn’t seem to know or mind either. At least until Yennefer had to break the tension, because she seemed to gain nearly as much power from controlling others’ conversations as she did from controlling orgies.

“Well… I guess I better leave you two to it.” Yennefer mused, finally drawing Geralt’s attention away from Jaskier and to the situation at hand. And to Yennefer’s hand that she waved with what most would say as nonchalance; but Geralt knew it was plotting.

Suddenly, he saw  _ red.  _

Before she could saunter off to her own devices, proud of whatever fucking spell she had conjured up to torture the both of them, Geralt wrapped a large hand around the offending wrist, stopping her in her tracks. 

“What… did you do…?” Geralt growled in question as much as in  _ threat _ . She only had the nerve to roll her eyes condescendingly at him.

“Literally nothing but heal him, you mongrel. I did what you  _ begged  _ me to do, and I healed him. It just so happened that I revealed a secret that your poor bard didn’t even know about.”

Geralt stiffened at not only the information being thrown at him, but also at the feeling of his thoughts being invaded by the sorceress. 

_ “My guess is his parents were trying to keep a shameful affair secret, he’s some sort of noble, correct? Those types usually don’t take to ‘sullying the gene pool’, even more so than other humans.”  _

Amber eyes flickered between Jaskier’s nervous form on the bed and the smug sorceress who’s growing smirk made him snarl.

_ “What, you don’t believe me? Honestly Geralt, you should know me better than that. I wouldn’t play some sort of cruel prank on your  _ friend  _ just to mess with you. I was just as shocked as you when I first healed those magical scorch marks on his ears…”  _

Geralt’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of those scars of Jaskier’s. Of course the he had noticed them before —  most scars not obscured by clothing usually couldn’t go unnoticed by a witcher for long  — especially not for a decade . But he had seen enough scars in his long life to know that if someone doesn’t talk about them, you don't ask about them. 

Since it was Jaskier, who had never once struggled to talk about something that he  _ wanted  _ to talk about, Geralt figured if he wanted to have that conversation he would bring it up himself. Plus it only seemed fair, since as a bard, an injury which could have impeded his ability to hear seemed like a touchy subject.

But according to Yennefer, Jaskier hadn’t even  _ known  _ prior to today.

“So he’s...  —  _ an elf…?”  _ Geralt struggled to even utter the word, but luckily his thoughts filled out his question for the prying sorceress who he knew would be listening

“Yep.  —  _ it’s your lucky day. _ ” Yennefer answered, her ego and self-satisfaction practically choking him through their bond.

Geralt swallowed  _ hard  _ before he could even form another coherent thought, much less a question.

“Is he… _ full elf…?”  _

“Hmm…” Yennefer hummed as she directed her striking gaze directly through Jaskier, “ _ with my theory and those ears… and the fact that he didn’t  _ know…” She shrugged as a pause before voicing her answer for all of them to hear. “I’d guess… half, maybe? Give or take.” 

“And he’s…” Geralt had to take a deep breath in to steady himself before finishing off either his question or his thought. He was hopeful, but also terrified of the answer. “ _ not... going to… die…?”  _

“Not for a while.” 

He breathed out a shaky sigh that he didn’t realize he had been holding in. Not only was Jaskier okay… but the implication was that he wasn’t going to be leaving Geralt, at least by way of death, any time soon. 

If Jaskier really  _ was  _ an elf… that also meant he wasn’t human. Sure, in their decade or so traveling together, Jaskier hasn’t seemed to age a day. But up until now, Geralt knew that whatever “good genes” and bogus skincare regimen that the bard swore by could only hold out for so long. Until the bard began to show his age, until he began to slow… until they couldn’t travel together anymore. 

But now… all Geralt could think of was the prospect of his not-so-human lifespan. Which meant they had more time. Which meant... Geralt didn’t have to be so afraid of Jaskier dying and leaving him.

Maybe... just  _ maybe _ ... that meant Geralt could open his heart to something more.

Geralt’s musing was interrupted by a small huff of laughter and a  firm clasp to his shoulder.

"L ike I said, I better leave you two to it..."

The witcher glared up at her ever-knowing smirk. He shouldn’t be surprised that she was listening in on his thoughts, since they had been communicating that way just minutes prior, but it still aggravated him to no end. 

She seriously needed to get her nose out of his private thoughts as he worked through his emotions that he had worked so hard to shove aside over the years… only for them to come flooding back in all at once. 

“ Leave us to what?!” Jaskier whined, obviously annoyed that he was left out of the loop. As always. 

“ A conversation. An important one.” Yennefer replied simply while throwing a conniving look at Geralt. 

_ "He doesn't know. I'm giving you the perfect opportunity to tell him all of those things you've been hiding from him for so long... So DON’T fuck this up Geralt..."  _

_ "Get out of my fucking head Yennefer, this is my mess, I can handle it myself — however the fuck I want to."  _ He thought back at her with as harsh a glare as he could muster.

_ "Sure you can, Geralt. But like I said, I'm gonna leave you to it. It, being whatever you two decide on  _ after _ you have this conversation. I know you, and as long as he says yes like you and I both know he will… you won't be able to keep your hands off of him." _

She then added a devious “Maybe two.” aloud, before turning again to leave. 

_ "Fuck  _ **_off_ ** _ Yenn... _ " Geralt angirly thought back at her, although she had started making her way to the door to leave, and he couldn't feel the intrusive waves of her magic anymore, so his curse was probably futile.

Geralt watched in horror as an absolutely evil smirk flew across her face. He didn't need to be able to telepathically communicate with her or be bonded with her to know what she was thinking — and he couldn't stop her even if he wanted to.

He stiffened, ready to lunge and protect his bard as she leaned over to him, but that protective instinct immediately paled as he heard in no uncertain terms what she had the gall to reveal to Jaskier.

This was one of the moments he was utterly glad that witchers couldn't blush, because his entire body felt heated from the embarrassment and rage and the desire to flee. 

But Jaskier sure as hell could — and blush he did.

It took a lot to get that man to blush. Jaskier always seemed so unabashed in his affections and desires with no shame to his name, but those words whispered in his ear from the shameless sorceress left him positively flustered.

But gods, what Geralt wouldn't give to see him blush that delicious shade of red again and again. Seeing the flushed tint covering every inch of his ears _did_ things to Geralt. He could feel a possessive and hungry growl forming in the pit of his stomach that he had to bite back. If he was a lesser man, or in all honesty, any man that did not have the self-control of a witcher, he would have already been by Jaskier's side. Face pressed deep into his neck, inhaling the intoxicating mix of scents that were pure, unadulterated _Jaskier_... slowly tasting a trail up his neck and to his ears. Those ears that he would ravish with his tongue, pulling out soft moans and whimpers of pleasure and new sensations that would make the bard absolutely _writhe_ under the attention.

Yennefer was right: he did have a thing for elves. Specifically, he had a thing for non-humans.

Despite "not feeling", Geralt could never take the chance on getting attached to someone with a mortal or human life-span. But when those non-humans just so happened to be adorned withe the most delectable ears that had ever graced the continent...

The pointed cartilage of elf ears was  _ extremely  _ sensitive. On more than one occasion, Geralt had milked an orgasm out of his partner just by teasing them with his teeth and tongue. Fuck, how he wanted to make the bard  _ sing _ .

That thought was interrupted by a loud slam of a door as Yennefer finally left them in peace. However, it wasn't anything close to peace as now Geralt was faced with silence and his own thoughts. And the realization that he had been staring at the bard the whole time, the gods only knowing what kind of debauched face he had been making.

He took in a shameful gulp and quickly averted his eyes away from the still red bard, not having a single brain cell that could help him through this conversation in a productive way. He didn't even know if he was going to be able to _look_ at Jaskier while he thanked him for saving his life.

Or admonished him for being so stupid to risk his life for that of a witcher. Or when they talked about the impications behind Jaskier's new-found heritage. Or gods forbid — Yennefer's words.  He could already feel his body betraying him as his stomach turned and his brain clouded with arousal. Geralt was a man of few words, but now he knew he would be absolutely fucking helpless at the whims of his bard.

"Geralt....?”

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO YEAH I know like half of y'all are probably like "where is the promised porn" and the other half are like "Wait, wasn't this supposed to be 3 chapters?" WELL like I said, plot happened, so this is gonna be 4 chapters...
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed it though! I wasn't sure how it would be to write from Geralt's POV, so let me know what y'all think!

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter at [@ElectraInTheAir](https://mobile.twitter.com/electraintheair)! 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed, and make sure to let me know what you think or if you have some ideas for pent-up, horny-for-elf-jaskier Geralt! 
> 
> Also, now that y’all have had some fun reading some fic, it would mean a lot to me if y’all could go ahead and sign some petitions to support blm. Here is a tweet thread of some [petitions](https://twitter.com/defnceles/status/1268721489278312448?s=21) that have not met their goals. 
> 
> Thanks and see ya next chapter!


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